Chapter Three: Debutante
Logan stared out the carriage window at the landscape of Albion. It had been eighteen years since Roren took the crown from him. And five since he’d even set foot in Albion. Oh how things have changed. Bowerstone Industrial was no longer ripe with the smell of death and disease. Though poverty still ran rampant. But the king could only do so much to stop it; after all Reaver still had a great deal of control there. Even if his dealings were well hidden by shadows. Reaver, what a strange man. So confident and sure of himself. But still so sad; as though forever grieving some terrible loss. Though Logan had never known Reaver to care enough about anyone or anything to actually grieve its loss. But then again; Reaver kept his secrets well. And he knew full well that even being king would not sway him to spare you. Should you stumble upon any one of those well hidden secrets. So much had changed; he wondered if perhaps his old friend had as well. Perhaps Reaver was no longer the man he’d known during his reign as king. He doubted it. Men like Reaver do not change easily. He wondered if he would even live to see the day when something changed Reaver. Again he doubted it. After all Reaver had forever. He did not. He sighed; in some ways, it was as if he’d never left Albion; but he knew he’d be glad to return to Aurora, to Kida. Albion was no longer his home. But still…there was Roren and his wife Olivia. And of course his niece…Sophie. Sophie dressed herself as quickly as possible; sitting down at her vanity to comb out her long raven curls. Claire sat on her bed fiddling with the top hat Sophie kept on her nightstand. An odd possession; standing out among the other possessions that adorned the princess’s room. “Sophie.” Sophie turned to her friend. Claire’s plain figure standing out even more so then the hat she held. “Why do you keep this old thing? I’ve never seen you wear it. And frankly you would look a little silly if you did.” Sophie smiled as the image of the tall man; his sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement danced through the forefront of her mind. “It was a gift.” Claire perked up at this; she did so adore a bit of gossip. And someone other then the king or queen giving her friend a gift was intriguing. “A gift? From who?” “Reaver.” Sophie smiled fondly at the gift. Claire looked at the hat apprehensively, putting it back in its place. “Really.” Claire’s tone was bland and disapproving. Sophie rolled her eyes at her friend. “I was five.” She stated bluntly. Claire’s expression softened slightly. Few people thought highly of the handsome industrialist. Aside from her; her father and uncle were the only other people who considered him to be anything more then an annoyance. An annoyance that the king was fond of; so most put up with him and kept their opinions to themselves. Claire on the other hand rarely kept her opinion on anything to herself; including her opinion of him. Sophie thought of him often and took every opportunity she could manage to speak to him. He visited the castle quite often; but she had rarely gotten the chance to be alone with him. But when she did…Oh how she cherished those moments. No matter how brief they were. Sophie was broken out of her reverie by the sound of Jasper’s familiar voice. “The carriage has arrived princess.” Sophie jumped up forgetting her thoughts of Reaver for the moment and ran out of the room. Servants continued their chores as she ran past; now quite accustomed to their princess’s lack of regal bearing. She ran down the steps of the front hall. “Uncle Logan!” She cried excitedly as she embraced him lovingly. It had been far too long since she’d seen her beloved uncle who lived so far away. “Sophie.” He said smiling down at her. “Let me take a look at you.” She twirled happily for him. Proud to show him that she was no longer the awkward little girl she’d been at his last visit. She was now a graceful young woman. If not a little vain. “I have missed you little one.” He said; embracing her once more. “And I brought you something.” “You did?!” Her face lit up like the heavens as her uncle handed her a book he’d acquired in Aurora. Her fingers danced over the leather binding; her eyes drinking in the worn lettering. “A book about Samarkand!” She smiled up at him. “Happy Birthday Sophie.” He took her arm in his; and they walked out toward the castle gardens. “I thought you might enjoy it. You have your grandfather’s adventurous spirit.” “Thank you. I didn’t expect your visit; so when we got your letter we were surprised to say the least.” They sat by the fountain. “Of course I came. You turn sixteen today. I wouldn’t have missed it for all the world. You must be excited.” She smiled sadly. “Not really.” “Why ever not? Today you get an entire ball to celebrate the occasion.” “I know. To announce to the entire kingdom that I’m not a little girl anymore. But Daddy is still going to treat me like a little girl.” She sighed; frustrated. Logan looked at his niece; she was indeed no longer a child. He would have to speak to Roren about this. Sophie needed to know that she would be allowed to grow up and live her own life. But for the time being he had to think of some way to lift her spirits. He smiled as an idea struck him. “You know Sophie.” She looked at him forlornly. “After tonight, you won’t have to sit through anymore lessons.” She smiled at this; perking up almost immediately. “And it also means that men can start courting you if they like.” This last thought struck him as rather unpleasant; he most certainly did not like the idea of Sophie having beaus. But apparently Sophie did. The smile on her lips grew mischievous and hopeful. She hugged him suddenly and ran off toward the castle. “Where’re you going?” He called after her. “I have to find something to wear.” He laughed as she disappeared within the castle. Devon sat lazily in front of Reaver’s fireplace; listening to the gossip the servants whispered to each other whenever their master was away. What naughty servants you have Reaver. If only you could hear the things they say behind your back. Devon laughed darkly. You’d probably shoot them all dead. He stood, rifling through the many books Reaver kept in his study. Until he came upon a book that seemed out of place. It was old; as though Reaver had owned for a very long time. Devon flipped it open; curiosity getting the better of him. It was a diary; Reaver’s diary. Devon read it with interest; perhaps looking for some deeper understanding of his friend. Most of the entries bring a smile to his face. The writings of the man he met over fifty years ago. A man who still had the vigour of youth. When he reaches the final entry his laughter fades. He is no longer amused by what he finds; a rare scowl forms across his face as he reads. He throws the diary to the ground unable to read further. Now he understood. When he had made his own deal with the Shadow Court; he had lost nothing. But Reaver…he had lost everything. He jerked at the sound of his friend’s voice. “Reading someone else’s diary Devon…how rude.” His tone was a dangerous one; and Devon knew it. He had crossed a line; and whether or not he would survive it he didn’t know. Reaver smiled at him. A smile that frightened Devon more so than any threat or violent gesture. But then suddenly that same smile grew sad and Reaver sighed. He picked up the diary and placed it back on the shelf. “It’s alright Devon. You are not the first to chance upon this journal; and you likely won’t be the last.” Devon watched as his friend slumped into one of the armchairs by the fire. He watched; unsure of what he should do or say. He opened his mouth; but Reaver spoke before he could. “I can’t even remember my name Devon. I gave myself this name so that I could forget. Forget Oakvale and Rebecca. But I can’t forget.” Devon stared; seeing Reaver vulnerable was strange. He didn’t like it; it felt wrong and intrusive. “I remember every single detail of that night as though it were happening right before my eyes as we speak. The way she looked at me; like I was some horrible monster from a nightmare. Well, perhaps she was right. Perhaps I am a monster.” How long had Reaver lived with this? Devon had only ever guessed at his friend’s true age. The thought of eternity with this kind of guilt. It made Devon want to run away and never look back. Surely he was dreaming; this wasn’t real and this wasn’t truly Reaver. Oh why won’t he just stop telling me these things? I don’t want to know them. “I just woke up one morning and couldn’t remember my name. No matter how hard I tried. It was terrible, I suppose that was the day I truly became Reaver. The day I knew I would never be anyone else.” Reaver sighed once more. He had only ever shared these truths with one other. Sparrow. Sparrow; who had smiled at him gently and told him it was alright. Who had told him he wasn’t a monster. Such kind lies. But Devon was not Sparrow; Devon would hate him. Devon who had been alone all his life; who had never had a home. He would hate him. He waited and tensed. Waiting for the harsh words he knew were coming. But they never came. Instead…laughter. Devon was laughing at him. But the laughter wasn’t cruel; on the contrary it was kind. Warm. Comforting. Soon he found himself laughing as well. Servants occasionally looking in on their master. It was an unfamiliar laugh full and hearty. And they both laughed; no words need pass between the two. A secret understanding had formed in that moment. The laughter stopped when one of the maids knocked on the door lightly. “Yes Belinda what is it?” Reaver asked as Devon desperately tried to contain what was left of his laughter. “The tailor is waiting in the hall for you Master Reaver.” Reaver smiled at her kindly before motioning for her to go. Devon looked at him incredulously “Really Reaver? Do you really need anymore clothes?” Reaver laughed as he stood “He’s not here for me old friend. He’s here for you.” “Now what do I need the tailor for?” Reaver looked Devon up and down before laughing once more. His amusement only heightened by the pout that graced Devon’s lips. The king paced anxiously as guest began to arrive. Most of them men he noted bitterly. Sophie is only sixteen! Why can’t this damn ball wait until she’s older? We could hold it a year or two. Or thirty. But not now, she isn’t ready. I’m not ready. He sighed. Oh why couldn’t she have stayed five forever? “Nervous brother?” Roren turned; more than happy to see his brother. Logan would know exactly what to do. He’d probably suggest something to the effect of locking Sophie in a tower forever. Which at the moment sounded like a splendid idea. “She’s not ready for this Logan. She’s too young.” Logan listened as they walked. “If you recall Roren, you were only a few years older than Sophie when you left the castle. Started a revolution, saved Albion from the darkness.” Roren eyed Logan. This was not at all what he’d wanted to hear. “That was different.” “”Not really. I certainly didn’t think you were ready.” Logan paused. “Look, it never really matters if you think she’s ready. Frankly you’ll never really know if she’s ready. But she will. This ball isn’t about helping her get ready for the world. It’s about helping you let go brother. Trust me, if you don’t she’ll just run off when she is ready.” Logan squeezed Roren shoulder reassuringly before leaving toward the grand ballroom. Roren sighed. Perhaps Logan’s right. But even so, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “Daddy are you alright?” he turned to Sophie; for the first time seeing what a beautiful young woman she’d become. She smiled brightly at him. “Yes of course.” He took her arm in his and escorted her to the ballroom. As they entered the musicians started playing; and the king danced the first waltz with his daughter. “Why do I have to be here? I hate balls. They’re so pretentious.” Devon complained; fiddling with the dress attire he’d been forced to wear. Reaver chuckled at his uncomfortable friend. “Consider it retribution.” “For what?!” “For sticking your pretty little nose in places it doesn’t belong.” Reaver said simply. “Now go mingle. Perhaps associating with some members of higher society will improve your manners.” He shooed Devon away, flicking his wrist dismissively. He watched as Devon quickly found a pretty young girl with whom he could pass the time. Then he joined the festivities himself; hoping to forget the disturbing thoughts of earlier that day. Sophie sighed; standing out on the balcony that over looked the castle gardens. This was not turning out to be quite as entertaining as she’d thought. Most of the young men were too afraid to dance with her. Either too afraid of daddy, or to afraid of Uncle Logan to even talk to her. She leaned against the banister; staring up at the stars forlornly. Suddenly her ears caught the familiar sound of clacking of a cane upon the castles marble floors. “Good evening princess.” She turned; her icy eyes meeting his sapphire ones. Reaver smiled at the princess. How lovely she’d become indeed. Her soft raven curls neatly pinned up into a graceful style. She blushed as he took her hand. Gently kissing her knuckles. “G…good evening Reaver.” “Why are you out here my pet? You should be inside enjoying the festivities.” Sophie mind raced, unsure of what to say. Surely he would find her complaints silly and trivial. The blush on her cheeks deepened. “I was…well. I was bored.” She replied truthfully. He looked at her inquisitively. “Bored? How ever so? Surely the young men inside must be clamouring for the attention of a beauty such as yourself.” A beauty? Had he really called her beautiful? She smiled gratefully. “None of them seem interested in dancing with me. I think they’re all too frightened.” She sighed. Ah, so that’s why she’s out here by herself. He discovered that he found these particular circumstances most favourable. She smiled at him once more; the smile touched him somehow. It was sad, and sweet. This most certainly was not the little girl who’d stolen his hat. He bowed slightly. “Would you give me the pleasure of sharing a dance with me; fair princess?” He presumed her startled nod was meant as consent, and took her small, delicate hand in his own. He led her to the middle of the floor; where he pulled her closer to himself. Suddenly the delicate scent of lilander flowers tickles his senses as they began to dance. “What a lovely scent princess.” He smiled at her. “Thank you. It comes from a pressed flower in my locket.” She smiled; showing him the trinket proudly. “Although I don’t recognize the flower itself. Someone left in my room when I was young. It was a gift.” “A treasured possession?” he asked. He couldn’t help but wonder if that small trinket was important to her. “Oh yes.” She smiled. “I don’t treasure many belongings. Just this and one other.” “And what would that be?” She looked up at him, realizing what she’d said. She looked away blush reddening her pale cheeks once more. “A gift.” She said softly; almost inaudibly. Reaver smiled as the realization of what the other treasure must be hit him. Sophie’s heart beat rapidly inside her bosom as he pulled her closer; twirling about the room gracefully. The burgundy skirts of her gown swirling around her. As her gaze met his she knew. She knew that for as long as she lived her heart would forever belong to him. And that she would cherish this one perfect moment always. She grieved a little as the music stopped and he released her. She felt the absence of his presence and it saddened her. Reaver brought her hand to his lips tenderly. “Goodnight…Sophie.” Logan watched as Reaver left disturbed by the scene he’d just witnessed. And from the incensed look gracing Page’s features he was not alone in his worries. He couldn’t understand how Roren could be so nonchalant about Sophie dancing with Reaver. When he’d been so upset before; if a young man even smiled at her. Surely none of those boys had the reputation Reaver did. Logan stood feet firmly planted in place; his face contorted in worry. This was most certainly not good. Of that he was sure. As Sophie prepares for bed that night she glances adoringly at the old top hat. As she blows out the lamp she whispers a secret prayer that her love is returned; even if only for a moment. Devon snores loudly in the armchair as Reaver stares out the window. He swirls the contents of his glass absently; his thought dwelling on the ball. What on earth was happening to him? Every time he closed his eyes he saw her face. Her voice soft and gentle still rang in his ears. He placed the empty glass upon the desk beside and sighed. He was unsure; but took comfort in the knowledge that the wine would do it job once more. No visions of Oakvale or Rebecca would haunt him tonight. But his sleep would not be dreamless. It would be filled with soft laughter, and the delicate scent of lilander. As a single word falls easily from his lips as he slumbers. Sophie.